


Summer Solstice

by FrangipaniFlower



Series: Time and Tide [8]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Back from a Business Trip, F/M, Franny is not there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 04:03:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14992331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: The shortest night of the year, and Carrie’s coming home from a trip to Iran.





	Summer Solstice

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sydney who helped me with edits and suggestions!

Carrie started travelling again in May. Usually just a day or two, but by end of June she had to go on a trip to Iran for seven days. She arranged for Franny to stay with her sister for that week, and this is what caused their first fight. Because of course he offered to take care of Franny for that week. And Carrie didn’t even have to answer, her pause was long enough and telling enough to make it crystal clear that she hadn’t considered it. And wouldn’t consider it. Of course she told him it would be too much for him, that she didn’t want him to be burdened with a week of childcare, that Franny would love to spend time with her cousins – and then, worst of all, invited him to go with Franny to spend the week with her at her sister‘s house.

After she’d said that, he turned away from her and went downstairs, locking the door behind him, and didn’t plan to come back upstairs until she left.

That didn’t mean Carrie didn’t come downstairs though. She gave him three days and then the night before she left she was suddenly there. Of course she had a spare key, and it added to his feeling of being useless and his vulnerability that she could do this, could just ignore whatever he did or said or wanted, and could come in anytime.

And yet, he knew in the back of his mind he was being unfair. He had his own set of keys for months now and could come and go and enter her place as he pleased - hell, he _lived_ with her.

He woke up when she slid under his blanket – she’d been away all day bringing Franny to Virginia. He‘d expected her to fly out from Washington and not to return to New York for the night but here she was.

They didn’t speak but kissed and undressed each other with ardent desire, channeling anger and hurt into what they knew and what never failed them when they failed. 

The first round was fast and angry, but some time later she was framed between his elbows and they made love, slow and tender, without speaking a word but with their eyes never leaving the other‘s face. 

He didn’t stop slowly fucking her when he saw the tears welling up in her eyes and he didn’t brush away her tears – being on his elbows was a volatile position – but she didn’t close her eyes and didn’t wipe away her tears either. Instead, she just let them roll down her cheeks and disappear into her hair and the pillow.

She came when his left arm was hurting like hell, his fingers had cramped into a painful sculpture next to her head. But hearing her gasping his name, her legs wrapped around him now, and then watching that moment when her climax took her, the way her smile was beginning to glow then, her pupils wide and open, her body shivering beneath him – she took him with her, the pleasure equalized the pain for a bittersweet moment before his own orgasm granted him a few moments of euphoria before the pain clouded his senses again.

Afterwards she took his hand and kneaded and stretched his fingers, a silent plea for peace before she had to go.

„I‘m sorry,“ she whispered before she leant in to kiss him goodbye, and it was a long and lingering kiss, and he felt her tears on his face.

„Me too,“ he whispered into her hair, knowing he‘d be heard and understood.

That had been six days ago.

——————-

It’s a unusually warm day for late June, and Quinn spends the second to last afternoon of his week alone like he has spent all evenings: sitting outside in the small yard, sipping on a can of beer, another container of carry out food sitting on the table. Today’s choice is a Reuben sandwich and french fries.

He‘s absentmindedly fiddling with his phone, like the six evenings before, pondering if he should just call her. She’s part of the delegation preparing the next step of the negotiations for the nuclear deal, and he follows the news enough to know that the situation is still tense, and that Carrie‘s vast knowledge of the middle east and Israel and her brilliance in perceiving whatever the other side might be after and what they‘ll be willing to give to get it make her a very valuable member of that mission.

Knowing she’s back in Tehran fucks with him. And he lacks the words to reach out to her. 

_Are you okay?_

_Did you find his grave?_

_I should have taken you there earlier, you shouldn’t have to go there on your own._

_Are we good?_

_What do you want me to be for Franny?_

_Is what we have, is who I am – is that enough?_

So he opens the window with her number and closes it again, realizing the date on his screen.

_Summer Solstice. The longest day and the shortest night._

There’s a story he wanted to tell Franny today. The girl had called him twice this week. She did most of the talking then, but that’s their usual mode of operation anyway.

But maybe–

He flicks through his short contact list, seven numbers, Carrie, Max, Saul, two doctors‘ offices, Carrie‘s sister because Franny used her phone to call him, and his physical therapist.

Quinn makes the call, dreading the moment of hesitation and then the predictable change in her voice and slowing of her speech when Maggie answers her phone and realizes it’s him. He quickly gets through the small talk and asks if Franny is around — they’re at a church picnic but she tells him she’ll find Franny right away.

He hears indistinct conversations in the background, laughter, cheerful children’s voices – and then it’s Franny, a little out of breath, with a giggle when she asks if he’s there.

It’s not awkward, it’s – normal. She fills him in on how she spent her time since they spoke two days ago, tells him about a treasure hunt they are going to do in about half an hour, asks him if he‘d like to come to Virginia next time, tells him that Carrie called the day before and giggles with delight when he tells her he has a story for her.

——————

Carrie hears his voice outside and she wonders whom he’s talking to when she crosses the room and looks for him; back on US soil twenty four hours earlier than expected, and to Brooklyn and not Washington where she‘s meant to collect Franny tomorrow.

It dawns her that it’s Franny he‘s talking to when she realizes he is telling an ancient fairytale. And she can’t resist but slips out of her shoes and sits against the back of the couch, next to the open door and listens to his voice, catching a sentence every now and then.

It’s a tale about Etaín, a mortal woman crossing the invisible border to the world of the small folks, loved by two men a thousand years apart. Quinn tells Franny a shortened version, apparently adjusted to being child-friendly, but she finds a good summary on her phone when she googles the character's name.

_The warrior Midir, a king to his kin, fell in love with Etaín and took her home to secretly live in his kingdom. But when his wife Fuamnach realized what happened she was furious. In secret, she performed a magic spell on Etaín, transforming her into a pool of water. Then she conjured up a magic wind that dried up the water. The steam from the water condensed into a butterfly, and then Fuamnach was satisfied. But the butterfly flew to Midir, and wafted him with its wings, and Midir recognized his love, Etaín. From then on, everywhere he went, the butterfly Etaín perched on his shoulder, and the two of them were never seen apart._

_Fuamnach was furious that her trick hadn’t worked. She turned to magic again, and conjured up a magical storm. The storm caught Etaín up, and dragged her away from Midir. She was blown and buffeted by the winds for many years, until at last the storm blew itself out, and she found herself at Brúgh na Boínne, near the house of the powerful king Aengus Óg._

_But of course this peace was not meant to last and one day Etaín the butterfly accidentally escaped from her prison._

_The storm battered Etaín for seven long years, and then it blew her in through the high window of a mortal king’s banqueting hall. The king and his wife were having a feast for all their subjects. Exhausted, Etaín the butterfly fell in a faint off a rafter, and landed in the wine cup of the king’s wife. She drank back the butterfly, and turned to her husband, saying “I am with child.” Nine months later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl._

_The king and his wife named the girl Etaín, and she grew up to be the loveliest young woman that anyone had ever seen, with no memory of her immortal life before._

_Now, the High King in Ireland, a man named Eochaid Airem, was told by his advisors that it was time for him to find a wife. He searched his kingdom and found Etaín, the other king‘s daughter, and took her as his wife._

_He travelled his country with her to introduce her to all his subjects, and one day he took her to the small folk, the fairies and elves._

_This was where she met Midir again, after a thousand years. It was summer solstice, the shortest night, a special window of time to fight darkness and the dark forces, the night which allows kindred souls to recognize each other._

_Midir embraced Etaín, and the moment he put his arms around her, she remembered everything. She remembered the storm, she remembered her immortal life, and she remembered Midir and their great love. She kissed him, and as the king and all his men watched, Etaín began to shine with the light of the immortals. She and Midir rose up off the ground, and floated out of the window, never to be seen again._

Carrie listens to Quinn‘s voice ending the conversation with Franny, and peaks around the corner but only sees his back. She‘d love to see his face, unguarded and not knowing he’s being watched. That’s why she loves looking at him when he’s asleep.

But she gets up and walks into the yard when he puts his phone away, knowing he‘ll notice her steps and will know she is there.

And yet she feels her heart beating, feels a sense of relief that he is sitting there, and senses a fluttering tenderness in her stomach when she see the fine white line at the nape of his neck, telling her he got a fresh haircut.

It’s that spot where she places her hand when she reaches him and stretches her arm to touch him, glad when his good arm reaches back, loops around her waist and pulls her in his lap.

She buries her face in the curve of his neck, revels in feeling his hand roaming over her back and clutching her closer, smells his skin and the sun and feels his lips pressing a kiss on her temple.

It always amazes her how much her body reacts to his physical presence, how she awakens when she feels his hand and lips skimming over her skin and how grateful  
she is that he survived and is still _here_.

And especially now, after she’s been away for a week.

She searches his mouth with hers and it’s only after that they finally speak, his hand cupping her face now.

„I didn‘t expect you today.“

„Complaints?“

„Fuck, no,“ Quinn sighs and kisses her again, this time with his teeth softly grating her lower lip, knowing this will make her want more.

„I had a chance to come back on an earlier flight. And I – I wanted to see you,“ she tells him, and as corny as it is, it’s one of the better moments of this week, „and maybe,“ she breathes a soft laugh against his skin, „spend some time together, just the two of us, before Franny‘s back.“

„Anything particular in mind?“

„Indeed,“ she pulls back and smirks, „dinner and maybe a walk?“

She laughs when she sees his face, leans in once more and trails a line of butterfly kisses from the corner of his mouth to his ear.

„I‘ll make it worth your while,“ she promises, sneaking a hand beneath his shirt.

————————

They go to a small Spanish tapas restaurant two blocks away and sit outside. Different types of food arrive, all bite sized and to be eaten with a toothpick or a small fork, and Quinn knows this is no coincidence – she had a whole week to think about where to go when they went out for dinner for the first time. 

The food is good though. And it’s nice to sit here with her and to listen to her as she tells him about her week, to sip the chilled white wine she chose and to look at her and see her smile when their eyes meet.

She’s been wearing the ring every single day since he gave it to her, and seeing it on her slender finger as she gestures while she talks makes him proud.

He takes her hand when she pauses for a moment and brushes his thumb over the ring, and then Carrie covers his hand with her other hand, looking at him and right into his soul.

„What is it?“ she asks.

„What?“

„What you want to talk about? It’s just been me talking this entire time. How was your week?“

And that’s the thing, his week has been _empty_ and long. And his mind went to places where he didn’t want it to go.

„A normal week. Therapy. I bought a treadmill. They said I should do more of that,“ he shrugs as he listens to himself and lets the sentence trail off unfinished.

Carrie looks at him, and it’s a scrutinizing glare, and he knows he‘ll tell her sooner or later anyway.

„I need to work, Carrie. To do _something_. I can’t just sit here and do nothing and wait for you to come home.“

„What do you want to do?“

„I don’t know. It’s not so much about what I _want_ to do but about w-what I _can_ do.“

„Do you want to hear my thoughts?“

„You thought about it?“

„Yes.“

They‘d finished their dessert and coffee by the time they ended the conversation, and basically Carrie had asked him if he’d like to take over her position in the nuclear deal negotiations. It didn’t feel like her wheelhouse, she had been out of the region for too long and she thought he would be a much more valuable background resource than she was. It would be a couple of months, a year maybe, would involve some trips to the Iran but most of the work would be office-based with occasional trips to Washington.

„Back in December, it was you who figured out what was going on,“ she reminds him, waiting for his reaction, „don‘t tell me you don’t miss it. And it’s not agency work.“

„What did you call it?“

„Political consultancy. Advisor. Researcher.“

„I‘ll think about it.“ But she can see he likes the idea, his eyes were lightening up when she spoke about it and he listened to her with a thoughtful expression.

And with that, she drops it. That’s new, and he appreciates it. But Carrie knows the seed is planted, and now he needs time. He‘s so much better – and she’s so fucking proud of him and all the progress he’s made – but some things take a lot more time than they did before. She doesn’t know if that’s caused by the stroke, the sarin or his PTSD, or all of it, but she knows that he‘ll revisit the topic when he‘s ready.

She looks at him, sitting with her on this warm summer night, noticing his eyes resting on her face, knowing that he is happy she is back, and it makes her want to be alone with him, right now.

„Let’s go home, shall we?“ she smiles and cocks her head in a flirty way he hasn’t seen before, telling him exactly what the rest of the night will be about.

————————-

They walk home with her arm wrapped around his good arm, their fingers interlaced; and it feels like they are just one of the many couples they see walking to restaurants and bars, about to spend a Saturday evening together or maybe meeting with some friends.

Carrie’s wearing a blue light summer dress he’s never seen before and he can’t know that she just bought it today, at the airport, together with the white light cotton scarf she is wearing.

They kiss the moment the door latches behind them, she wants to deepen the kiss and parts her lips for him but he keeps it deliberately chaste and careful, enjoying to making her long for more.

Contradicting his restraint with the kiss, he slowly unties her scarf and pulls it away, allowing him access to her cleavage. He backs he up against the wall, keeps the kiss going and traces her neckline with his finger, enjoying to feel her hammering pulse.

He covers her breast with his hand and starts kneading it, she’s breathing into his mouth now, and he wants to fuck her here and now, right on the stairs, that’s how much he wants her and needs her.

But they make their way to the dining room, kissing, hands slipping under fabric, their breathing fast and heavy already.

Carrie is leaning backed up against the wall again when he opens the first two buttons of her dress and the front clasp of her bra to slip his hand into the cup, circling her nipple with his thumb.

He loves making her moan. It is such deep satisfaction to feel the power he has over her, to feel how hard her blood pumps when his hand or his mouth please her. He lives to make her gasp. He rests his weak hand on her hip now, softly pressing her up against the wall. Using his body to keep hers pinned – not that she’s resisting – he withdraws his hand from her breast, moves it down, under her skirt and up her right thigh until he finds the lacy fabric of her underwear. His fingers begin to glide between her legs. "Enjoying yourself are you?", he teases as he ghosts over her clit and she moans and bucks under his touch, unable to formulate a response. "Good answer,” he quips and presses himself against her, reveling in anticipation.

He places her on her on the table top, close to the edge, and then methodically opening her shirt dress further down to gain access to her, placing kisses on every bit of skin revealed until she finally lifts her hips for a brief moment, allowing him to yank down her underwear.

Carrie loves feeling his want for her. Dozing off during her flight, she daydreamt being with him, waking up with a flushed face and a sweet throbbing sensation between her legs, knowing it would be only a few hours until she’d be with him.

Parting her knees to allow him access, he pulls her close to his mouth, makes contact and starts licking her.

His good hand is around her ass now, holding her in place as his tongue and lips are sending her immediately into a state of frenzy.

He licks, suck, swirls, and flicks his tongue until she’s utterly helpless, crying out his name, knowing there’s nothing she can do but allow herself to be swept away by the sheer force of what he’s giving her.

Sensing this won’t last long he ups his pace, licking her softly with even faster, quivering movements - and within seconds, spasm after spasm rocks her body with overwhelming rapture. She cries out again, making him want to fuck her right away, and at the same time to draw this out and make her give him the same.

“Tell me how much you love me,” she whispers when he comes up and cradles her, her body molding into his.

“I don’t have the words,” he replies, kissing her temple before he answers – and that’s true, he can’t measure what he feels for her. But he knows it's what's keeping him tethered on the dark days, secure on better days, and allows him believe in their future together.

“I needed to see you today. I missed you”, she states with a raw honesty he sometimes can’t cope with.

But not tonight. Tonight is _different_ , it’s good to hear her say it and to know it’s the truth.

“Did you miss me too?” Carrie asks, nestling her hand between them, slowly beginning to stroke him with her open palm.

“I did”, he admits, feeling his own arousal asking for attention, “but I was still angry.”

“I know”, she whispers, “so this is not the make up sex yet? So we’ll save that for later?”

“Yes.”

He kisses her, enjoying her slender hand building up a rhythm now, closing his eyes and surrendering to her touch.

“Did you think about this this week?” she asks, stroking the smooth stretched skin, her touch still much too soft.

“I did,” he admits, clenching his hand into a fist to hold himself back from making her give him _more_.

“Tell me”, she whispers.

Her thumb gently rubs the small cleft at his tip, knowing this will get her anything she wants, and he opens his eyes and looks at her. Sitting on the table she’s at his eye level, he is still standing between her knees, her hand slowly performing what he wants so much. It goes both ways, they both know that, they know how to push each other's buttons – when they fight and now with _this_.

“I’ll tell you what I think”, she whispers when he remains silent and leans in to kiss him, her thumb slowly spreading a bead of liquid across his tip, “you want me to go down on my knees now.”

“Yes,” he admits, his voice hoarse.

She glides down from the table the second he steps back, all the way down to her knees in one smooth movement, her hands on his hips now.

She looks up when he gathers her hair in a ponytail, smiles and keeps eye contact when she opens her mouth and takes him in.

“Fuck, Carrie”, is all he can come up with, and then nothing else, his brain short-circuits the moment he feels her warm wetness surrounding him. 

Using his hand at the back of her head to guide her movements he goes for slow and deep, all the way back and in again, his moans telling her how much he enjoys this.

One hand between his legs now she lets her fingers find his perineum and massages him in slow circles, making his whole body shiver.

“I want you Carrie,” he pulls her back and up into a standing position, his hand still wrapped into her hair, allowing him to direct her, “I want you so badly.”

He pulls her in for a kiss, tasting himself on her tongue, wishing he could back her up against the wall and fuck her there, hard and fast and good.

He pushes her dress down her shoulders, the fabric pooling around her feet, her bra going with it, as he rubs his thumb over her nipple, pleased when she trembles and moans.

When they break the kiss he turns her around and presses himself against her ass, his hands covering her breasts, playing with her nipples.

“This is what I thought about”, he rasps out, his cock between her buttocks, rubbing against her rim, starting a new train of thought for her.

He bends her forward, over the table, the rough surface is cool against her breasts and that sensation is a welcome contrast to the heat spreading when he widens her stance enough to get access before starting to massage her ass.

Seeing her like this, for him, this gorgeous woman awaiting him, the milky white skin under his hands, her small and firm ass covered by his hands – it’s more than he ever thought they could be.

He watches himself pushing into her body, he draws it out and goes for slow because it’s too good to be rushed. When he’s inside her up to the hilt he lets his hand run down her spine, down to her hip, and then he starts to fuck her in earnest.

She’s been waiting for this, craving to have him and to hear him coming apart as much as she wants him to make her come again.

The position is absolute surrender, she’s at his mercy, can’t see but only feel him and gives in to every of his thrusts, feeling him filling her and upping his cadence, and then she feels his hands on her shoulders again, sliding down to her wrists, his strong hand raising her right hand and pulling it over her back to her ass. She understands the cue and moves her left arm there, feeling his large hand going around both wrists and securing her there for his last thrusts. She arches her back upwards, enjoying the feeling of him having all of her and restraining her movements, feeling another climax building up from her core.

When he comes it starts from his toes and rises, taking everything away, and then he releases into her, his vision frays to grey for a moment or two, watching himself pushing between her buttocks and into her, her hands in his, her body bucking and writhing against the surface of the table.

She feels his warmth spreading into her, her whole body is quivering, she loves hearing him unravel – his groans with each thrust, each fast and short stroke releasing another wave until he lets go of her wrists and collapses on her back, his cock still inside her.

“Oh my God, Carrie,” he whispers and then silence.

“Better than your fantasy?”, she quips, making him laugh which is a great sensation as she feels the vibrations of his body inside her as well as against her back.

“How could I envision _this_?”, he whispers, sober now, and places a gentle kiss on her shoulder, “but, I’ll never be able to have dinner at this table ever again.”

“How about we move to the couch for the post-coital talk,” Carrie suggests, “my legs are starting to go numb.”

That makes him chuckle again but he straightens his back and pulls out of her, one last look on that utterly erotic display, and then he helps her to get up, gathering her in his arms as soon as she’s back to a standing position.

As they settle in bed, he needs to stretch and rest his leg, and maybe take an extra dose of _Zanaflex_ if the spasms don’t get better.

“I’m not sorry,” he whispers, kissing her before he reaches for the pill, “that was worth every bit of strain I might feel now.”

It’s a warm night and they lie in bed naked, enjoying the breeze coming in from the yard through the window. Her head is resting on his abdomen, and she massages his hand as they wait for his pills to kick in.

“I went to Behesht-e Zahra in Tehran”, she says, working his palm with her thumb.

There’s a lot he could say now. Or he could say nothing at all. It’s not about him. Maybe not even about Carrie, but about the man Brody once was. And yet it means a lot to him that she’s telling him.

“I spoke the _Shahaadah_ for him,” she continues, “it felt right. I don’t think anyone did that so-”, her voice trails off.

“Do you think Javadi told you the truth?” he asks.

“About his remains being buried there? No. But it’s the only place I could think of going.”

Her voice is calm, and she keeps working his hand.

———-

Later that night they make love in bed, lying on their sides and facing each other, with slow movements, their eyes locked, Carrie’s leg wrapped around his hips.

“So this is the make up sex,” she whispers and earns a smile instead of an answer, and then she kisses him as they fall into oblivion once more, blissful moments of love, lust and longing.

“When are you leaving?”, he asks afterwards, as he’s drifting off to sleep.

“I? I thought we’d go together. Franny wants to see you as much as me. After breakfast, I thought.”

**Author's Note:**

> I gave it a try and wrote my first Strange Angel fic which you [find here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963285)


End file.
